Frosty Musketeers
by Keesha
Summary: This is for the Fête des Mousquetaires December's challenge with the seasonal theme of "Frozen." The four musketeers have an assignment that leaves them a bit frozen until they figure out the real reason and then it melts their hearts.


_Author's Note: This is for the Fête des Mousquetaires December's challenge with the seasonal theme of "Frozen." Check out the rules in the forums and consider adding an entry._

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"Athos! I don't know what shape that is, but it is definitely not round," an exasperated Aramis chided his friend as he stood there with his hands on his hips shaking his head.

After shooting Aramis a nasty look, Athos turned a critical eye on his work. Tilting his head first to the right and then to the left he grudgingly admitted Aramis had a point. The misshapen lump was not spherical, though Athos would never give Aramis the satisfaction of admitting that the marksman was right. Instead, Athos folded his arms over his chest, scowled at the gob, and debated about giving it a swift kick.

"Glaring at it won't fix it and don't you dare kick it!" he admonished as he saw Athos shift his weight and start to raise his boot. "Really, Athos, you are acting like a spoiled brat. How hard is it to make a round object? Try again." With that, he turned his attention on Porthos and started critiquing his work.

Athos was frozen from head to toe, which only increased his hatred of this humiliating assignment. As one of the King's Musketeers, an elite squad of soldiers, it was his job to guard and protect the royal family. He was one hundred percent sure this activity was not anywhere in his job description.

"Athos, get to work," Aramis scolded when he noticed the recalcitrant musketeer was still standing around looking irritated. "Look at how well D'Artagnan is doing."

Athos stopped glaring at his misshapen lump and turned the full fury of his wrath on the farm boy. "It's the damn boy's fault we are out here!"

Now D'Artagnan stopped working to defend himself. "Not fair. I was simply trying to relieve the tediousness of guard duty with a little light repertoire. How was I to know the King would choose that moment to enter the room?"

"It's guard duty. It's supposed to be boring. And you're not supposed to talk," Athos snapped at the Gascon in a snarky tone.

"We can't all be as taciturn as you speaking, what, once or twice a day?" D'Artagnan good-naturedly ribbed his mentor. "Maybe you should become one of those cloistered monks."

"Nah, I don't think that would be right at all. Athos, voluntarily entering a monastery? I'm pretty sure that would be considered a sign of the impending apocalypse," Porthos offered as he strolled over to where his brethren were standing.

Aramis glanced over at Porthos, then became even more aggravated. "Stop eating the props."

"But I'm hungry," the big man sulked as he continued chewing. "We've been out here forever. I'm sure we missed lunch."

"And I'm cold," Athos joined the bitch-fest. "Frozen. From head to toe."

Aramis threw his hands in the air, vexed at his friend's complaints. "And what would you like to whine about, D'Artagnan," he asked the only musketeer not yet griping.

The Gascon gave an indifferent shrug. "We were given a task by the King and as his musketeers we are bound to complete it."

Porthos made little kissing noises with his mouth, which caused d'Artagnan's ears to turn red from embarrassment, not the cold.

"And if the King told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that without question?" Athos sardonically queried the boy.

Before the youngest musketeer could answer, Porthos butted in. "Ah, Athos, you did jump off a bridge at the King's request."

The senior's musketeer's face turned thoughtful for a moment. "You are right. I stand corrected. But it was for a good reason."

D'Artagnan made a mental note that the next time Athos was drunk he'd get the story out of him. It was hard to imagine what would be a good reason to jump off of a bridge.

"Gentlemen, all this standing around and chatting is not getting the job done," Aramis counseled his coffee-klatching crew. "Porthos, you need to make yours taller. Athos, think round. D'Artagnan, keep up the fine work."

"Teacher's pet," Porthos sneered as he walked by the whelp and gave him a light slap in the back of the head.

"Hey!" the boy cried out in dismay.

Athos silently stood and watched his two friends wander back to work. He glanced over at the palace windows and swore he saw Treville standing there, nice and warm, watching them. The Captain could have stopped this travesty, but he hadn't and Athos was pretty sure this was his way of punishing them for the altercation with the Red Guard the previous night. This morning, the Captain had been chastied by the Cardinal because of the musketeer's behavior. When the King came up with this ludicrous idea, Treville had whole-heartedly agreed with the assignment.

Aramis' shrill voice broke his reverie. "Round, Athos, round!"

Athos was certainly no saint and had a bad-boy streak in him, though he usually kept it under control. But he was fed up, so he gave into his evil impulse. Bending over, he scooped up some snow, made a nice, well-packed, perfectly round snowball, straightened, and threw it with all his might at Aramis. Since he was a musketeer, his aim was spot on, solidly smacking Aramis in the back of the head.

An undignified shriek, filled the air, causing Porthos and D'Artagnan to swiftly turn, draw their swords, and wildly look around for the source of the danger.

Athos cocked an innocent eyebrow and sweetly asked Aramis, "Was that round enough?"

Aramis was muttering uncomplimentary phrases under his breath as he batted at the back of his neck, trying to stop the snow from working its way inside his coat.

"Oh wait. My bad. I hit you in the back of the head." Athos swiftly made a second snowball. "Do turn around so I can throw the next one directly at your face. Then you can judge if it is sufficiently round."

Aramis was clearly unhappy, but D'Artagnan and Porthos were doubled over in mirth at Athos' antics. Their lieutenant didn't misbehave often, but when he did, he went all out.

Athos tossed his snowball from hand to hand, toying with it. Aramis shuddered as he tried to get the last of the melting snow off his back. It was quite unpleasant. He straightened his hat, which was slightly askew, as well as his coat before turning his sad, brown eyes upon Athos.

"If you feel you must throw that snowball at me, then by all means go ahead," Aramis said resignedly. Tilting his chin a bit higher, he stood perfectly still as he faced Athos.

Aramis' acquiescence took some of the wind out of Athos' sails and the swordsman chewed on his lip debating whether or not to throw the snowball. Somehow, Athos wasn't as sure it would be satisfying.

Seeing his friend was wavering, Aramis gave a long-suffering sigh and laid on the guilt. "This assignment is for the Dauphin, you know. Just think how delighted he will be when he wakes up from his nap and sees what we have done for him. The wonder on his precious little face. I'm sure even the Queen will smile."

D'Artagnan and Porthos were already falling for Aramis' guilt trip, shifting uncomfortably and starting to look sheepish. Athos, however, wasn't going to be brought to heel that easily.

"The Dauphin is barely a year old. He has no clue what a snowman is and I have grave doubts he can even see this far," Athos counter-argued. "This is a ridiculous assignment."

"We are not that far from the windows. Besides, the Queen can bundle him up and bring him out here to see the snowmen up close. Fresh air is good for babes."

Athos shook his head. "This air isn't fresh; it's frozen, like my nose and my toes."

Looking like someone had just beaten his puppy, Aramis dramatically sighed again. "If you want to go inside, disobey the King's order, don't let me stand in your way."

Porthos and D'Artagnan immediately assured Aramis they wanted to stay out here and do their duty to their King, his Queen, and the Dauphin.

Athos, on the other hand, muttered "I'm outta here," turned and began to walk away. Something made him glance up and he spotted Treville standing at the window with his arms folded over his chest. Athos couldn't clearly see his commander, but the musketeer had no doubt, what would happen if he walked away from this assignment.

Thankfully, his Captain could not hear the prolific swearing spewing forth from his mouth as he turned around and headed back towards the partially finished snowmen. It suddenly dawned on him that he still had the snowball in his hand and he chucked it at D'Artagnan, smacking him squarely in the side of the jaw.

The boy cried out, lost his balance, and tumbled into the snow. Athos simply stood there, looking at him, not the least bit abashed.

"What the hell was that for?" D'Artagnan demanded as he climbed to his feet, brushing snow off his person. Reaching up, he rubbed the side of his aching jaw.

"That's gonna leave a mark," Porthos philosophically noted after he placed the snowball he had just completed on top of one of the half-finished snowmen.

D'Artagnan glared at Athos, spread his hands, and looked askance. "Why?"

Using what his friends had dubbed his 'Comte' voice, Athos drolly explained, "Because this is your fault. To relieve your boredom, you decided to quiz Porthos on the subject of snowmen while on guard duty."

"I asked, not quizzed," the boy muttered, still rubbing the side of his face.

"And when you learned that Porthos spent his childhood trying to survive and didn't have time to build snowmen you decided to quiz the rest of us."

"Asked," D'Artagnan replied. "Politely."

Athos turned his steely gaze on Aramis. "And of course, not having the good sense to let the whole conversation simply drop, Aramis had to launch into a lengthy remembrance."

"It wasn't that long and it was a charming, whimsical tale from my youth," Aramis cheerfully chirped.

"And as you are recounting your quaint story, the King comes in, gets one of those ideas in his head, and here we are building snowmen by royal decree." Athos shook his head in disgust. "I should have knocked you unconscious."

"Athos," Aramis cajoled. "Where is your sense of adventure? Surely this is more interesting than guarding the throne room."

Raising his gloved hand to his bearded chin, he said, "Hmmmm. Let me think. Inside. Warm. Outside. Cold. I believe I'll take inside."

"Well," Aramis jovially said as he walked over and draped his arm over Athos' shoulders, "we're out here so let's make the best of it, shall we?"

"You're too damn cheerful," Athos growled as he shrugged to dislodge Aramis' arm.

"And your too damn grouchy," Aramis countered though without malice.

"And you both are too damn chatty!" Porthos broke into the conversation. "If we don't get back to work, we'll be out here all night. I don't wanna miss supper too."

After a bit more grumbling, Athos stomped off to try to make a nice, large, round snowball to serve as the head for one of the snowmen. By the time they were done making the parts and assembling the snowmen, Athos was no longer cold, but sweaty under his layers of clothing. He wasn't so sure it was an improvement.

Aramis stood back and studied their creations. "They need something more."

"They look fine to me," Athos pronounced. "Let's go." As he turned to walk away, Aramis reached out and latched onto his arm. Athos gave him his meanest, nastiest glower, but Aramis wasn't fazed.

"They don't look right," Aramis complained again. "They need a little more personalization. Porthos, give me your handkerchief."

"My head will get cold."

"We'll be inside soon."

Never able to deny his best friend anything, Porthos continued to grumble, but took off his head piece and handed it over. Aramis went over to the tallest of the four snowmen and wrapped the handkerchief around its head.

"Now, D'Artagnan, hand me your..." Aramis halted, perplexed. "What item defines you?"

"Nothing. The pups' too new. He has no definition," Porthos helpfully supplied.

Aramis cocked his jaw, then shrugged. "That could work too. Now mine, of course, is my blue sash," which he reverently unwound and placed around the third snowman's midriff.

"I think it should have been your hat," Porthos suggested and Aramis studiously ignored him, focusing his attention on the last of their group.

Extending his arm, he wiggled his fingers in the gesture to give. "Hand it over, Athos."

Athos took a step backwards. "No," he firmly stated.

"Now Athos, everyone else handed over their item without fuss," Aramis, the voice of reason, pointed out.

"Not true. D'Artagnan didn't."

Porthos, getting into the spirt of the game, started advancing towards Athos. "If we took anything off the boy he'd be naked. Pretty sure the Captain would frown upon the pup serving guard duty in his birthday suit."

With Aramis flanking him to the left and Porthos to the right, Athos was definitely feeling like a trapped animal. Deciding his best option was a swift retreat, Athos spun on his heel and took off across the snow in a desperate to attempt to escape his brothers.

Like a pack of hounds after a fox, the other three musketeers tore after him. Athos was the best swordsman of the bunch, but he wasn't the fastest runner and he was tackled from behind. He landed face first in the snow with his three brothers piling on top of him. A tousle ensued, which, given the three to one odds, he lost rather quickly. His scarf was ripped from his throat, though by which brother he couldn't say. But it was Aramis that triumphantly ran off with it and placed it around the final snowman's neck.

Aramis made a little flourish towards the four snowmen. "There you have it, gentleman. The King's own musketeer snowman guard."

With sticks for swords, blue scraps of material for cloaks and the personalized item from each musketeer, they did bear a striking resemblance to their creators. One snowman was taller and broader than the rest. Another was definitely on the thinner side. The third was finely wrought, having a very refined and handsome demeanor and the last snowman appeared aloof and even colder than the rest of his brethren.

Porthos reached down and pulled Athos to his feet and D'Artagnan helped his mentor brush the snow off his clothes. Aramis rejoined them, reached out, and secured Athos' coat tighter around his naked neck where the missing scarf would have lain.

"The Dauphin is going to love this. Thank you, my brothers," Aramis whispered to his brethren. Suddenly, they realized this was not about the King's whims, but rather a father giving his child a small gift because he couldn't give him anything else.

Porthos' long arms encircled his brothers and pulled them into a group hug. After a series of head rubs, back pats and smiles, they broke apart and started walking back towards the palace.

"You know, Athos, you never did say whether you ever built a snowman as a child," D'Artagnan noted as they walked across the snow covered grounds.

"Probably had his servants do it," Porthos quipped with an ear-to-ear grin.

"Is that what you did?" D'Artagnan asked a bit put off.

They thought Athos was going to remain mute on the subject, but he surprised them when he slowly began to speak in a hollow voice. "No. My father would have thought that a waste of the servant's time." Athos paused as if debating how much he wanted to reveal.

Aramis, who knew this brooding man rather well, read between the lines. "That's what your father told you when you built a snowman."

It was obvious by the look on Athos' face that Aramis had surmised correctly.

"I didn't build a snowman, exactly. I had read a book that talked about a knight battling a dragon and I was fascinated. I used to pretend that I was a fearsome knight whose job it was to slay the mighty dragon to protect the Kingdom. One day we had a very heavy snowfall and I convinced Thomas to help me build a snow dragon. It was six feet long and quite formidable. With great pride, I showed it to my father, who immediately declared it a waste of time and further chastised me for dragging my brother into my stupidity. A few hours later Thomas took quite ill. Whether or not it was from being outside so long, who could say? My father's dark looks, however, which were aimed at me, made his position quite clear. That night I went outside and flattened my creation so it looked like nothing more than snow covered ground. I have had no urge, since then, to build anything out of snow."

"Your father was wrong," Aramis said sincerely as he reached over and patted Athos' back.

In the palace, Treville watched as his men made their way inside. Their actions and exploits never ceased to amaze him. They were true brothers. Fighting one moment like cats and dogs, then defending each other the next with their whole heart and soul. Whatever higher power had decided to bring them together had done well for them and the world.

Glancing over at the frozen snowmen, he laughed as they truly did look like a band of frosty musketeers standing watch over the palace. Treville wasn't sure the Inseparables had learned anything through this punishment, but it had been amusing to watch, had placated the Cardinal for their transgressions against his guards, and their results had delighted the King and Queen. A good tale all around.

The End

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 _Author's Note: Thanks to Moringotho-in-Angamando for being brave enough to work with me again. She has improved this tale, tremendously. I like working with various betas because I learn so much from each of them._


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